Page 77 of Redemption
Thedoctorfrom the other day referred to himself asStitch.
And now this guy is asking if I have a name yet?
“Yeah... I got a name. Not about to hand it over, though,” I say in reply.
He chuckles, shaking his head at my response. “Hate to break it to you, shortcake, but no one in this town keeps their name. Only one who’s allowed to is David, and that’s only because he’s in charge. The rest of us enter the town and leave our baggage at the door, including the names from our past.” He squints his eyes, looking me up and down. “Meat.”
“Meat?”
“That’s your name from now on.Meat.”
What in the fuck?
“As in dead meat,” he elaborates while blocking my exit and stalking further into the room. “You killed those guys out there. One of whom was a very dear friend of mine. I think the name fits the bill; don’t you think?”
Refusing to cower at his implied threat, I swipe my tongue over my teeth, overly fed up with this place and just wanting to find the others and get the fuck out of here, but instead I have to play house with a fucking psychotic giant who also—not so secretly—wants to murder me.
Fucking great.
Wanting to live to see another day, I grit my teeth and say, “Sounds great.”
∞∞∞
After a quick breakfast, I leave the community buffet with Tank and a few others and am ushered to my...job. Less than a week after waking up with a traumatic brain injury and a dislocated shoulder and, apparently, they put you right back to work. They didn’t even let me keep a sling to help alleviate the pain. For fuck’s sake, if they wanted to put me to work so soon, the sling would have at least helped a little.
Fucking bass-ackwards town.
But at least I’m not stuck in a room, hidden away from everyone. At least, out here, I can finally begin searching for everyone. The only problem? The job we’ve been tasked with isn’t conducted amongst the general population.
Instead, Tank leads the small group of us away from the town, indicating we would be conducting a routine perimeter check in what he calls theborderlands, inspecting thedeterrent zones, and then later reinforcing theburn pits.Not knowing what the fuck any of that meant, I’m even more on guard. Myfingers instantly head to the side of my leg, tapping out the steady rhythm in the hopes it’ll calm my anxiety.
One, two... Pause... One, two...
The taller guy to my right nudges my arm as we walk, drawing my attention. His short hair is white as snow and messy, sticking up all over the place as if he just rolled out of bed and showed up to work without any fucks given. He offers his hand to me in greeting. “Hey, new guy, I’m Casper.”
I return the gesture, gripping his hand in a firm handshake. “Jax,” I say with a salutary nod, gifting him my name since he seems to be the only one who’s shown some semblance of cordiality in this shithole.
“Nice to meet you.” He releases my hand—not caring at all that I didn’t give him my newly acquired Zombieland name—and indicates to the others in our group. “I see you’ve met Tank. He leads this group each week to check on everything.”
Needing to gain as much information as possible while also unable to stop my curiosity, I ask, “Why is he called Tank?”
“Oh, that’s easy. Just look at the guy.” He lifts his hand slightly and points to the leader of the group. I nod at the obvious connection, but Casper continues. “He, also, used to drive a tank during his stint in the military, from what I heard. Even has a tattoo of one on his shoulder.”
“Ah. Ok.” I file that information away and jut my chin to the left, to the other brick shithouse next to him. I saw him guarding the house last night. “What about that guy?”
“That would be Jim.” A little smile tilts the side of his mouth. “You know... like Slim Jim?” He covers a laugh as he continues, shaking his head as he stifles his fit. “He doesn’t like it.”
I grin at the easy conversation and continue. “And him?” I point to a guy who I haven’t seen yet.
“Oh, that’s Thomas,” he says quickly in return, almost like he doesn’t want to continue.
“Let me guess, like the English muffins?” I ask, trying to figure out the pattern to the unusual names. “Did the guy like baked goods a little too much?”
Casper’s eyes grow dim, his face tilting down towards the ground as he stumbles over what to say next. His jaw clenches, barely restraining a snarl as he says, “No... as in the train.” His gaze trails off in the distance, growing misty as he looks towards the fields just inside the town’s limits.
Something about the way he says it instantly makes me think there’s something important that I’m missing. Some darkness that I’ve yet to fully uncover. But the man’s obviously triggered by the topic, so I save that little bit of information for later, choosing to change the subject instead. “So, what exactly are we doing this morning?”
Looking forward again, his eyes turn down in contemplation. “We, uh, we’re on lineman duty. Simple explanation? We’re what keeps the growlers from the town. Or, at least, what we do keeps them from the town.” He doesn’t elaborate any further than that, remaining silent for the remainder of our trip to the borderlands.
